


will my candle still burn without your flame (baby you're my ignition)?

by Withstarryeyes



Series: Precipitation Series [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji is a Good Friend, Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Friend, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Caring Kozume Kenma, Dizziness, Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Graduation Trip, Hurt/Comfort, Kenma has anxiety, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Mountain Resort, Nervous Kenma, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Sickfic, Snow, Soft Kozume Kenma, Tenderness, They're together but it's not the center of the fic, Vomiting, Weather-related fics, little to no romance, sick kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: Kenma had been against the whole thing, naturally. When Bokuto had started to plan his and Kuroo’s graduation trip to one of the snowy mountain resorts in Northeast Japan, Kenma had made Kuroo promise that he wouldn’t try to get Kenma to join. Kenma wasn’t even graduating and it would be a waste of time. But then Bokuto had gotten Akaashi to come and somewhere along the way Kuroo had caught Kenma on a good day, one where Kenma was feeling soft and generous, and Kenma had found himself agreeing. He’d regretted it the next day, of course, but at that point the damage had already been done.Or...Kuroo hides his illness during a post-graduation trip with Kenma, Akaashi, and Bokuto and Kenma suffers.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Precipitation Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076363
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	will my candle still burn without your flame (baby you're my ignition)?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kms22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kms22/gifts).



> Hi guys!! I hope you like this piece. This came from a request on my last fic, in the dark I called out for you (you, see you are my light), where Kms22 asked for 'Could you do a story where the Gym 3 Squad (only Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi; plus Kenma lol) are having a sleepover at a training camp (they are all in the same room by the way) while a snowstorm is happening-Kuroo becomes extremely sick; delirium, vomiting, migraine included-and the other three do their best at taking care of him, but have to call for help when it becomes too much to handle on their own!'. I did change a few things! Since my last one took place during training camp, I set this one during a graduation trip at a snowy mountain resort for Bokuto and Kuroo. Kenma and Akaashi got dragged along. There's also no delirium, because I wanted the climax of the illness to feel a little different from Bokuto's in the previous fic. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy it!!

Kenma had been against the whole thing, naturally. When Bokuto had started to plan his and Kuroo’s graduation trip to one of the snowy mountain resorts in Northeast Japan, Kenma had made Kuroo promise that he wouldn’t try to get Kenma to join. Kenma wasn’t even graduating and it would be a waste of time. But then Bokuto had gotten Akaashi to come and somewhere along the way Kuroo had caught Kenma on a good day, one where Kenma was feeling soft and generous, and Kenma had found himself agreeing. He’d regretted it the next day, of course, but at that point the damage had already been done. 

This is how Kenma finds himself arguing with Kuroo about skiing. He’s on the couch in his pajamas, his eyes on his Kirby game, one he’s playing through for the fourth or fifth time, and Kuroo is behind the couch, holding a pair of skis and attempting to bore holes into the back of Kenma’s skull. 

“Come on, Kenma, what’s the point of coming here if you’re not going to do anything new?” Kuroo asks. By the door, Bokuto and Akaashi are bundled up in their snow gear, chatting away. They’ve been privy to plenty of Kenma and Kuroo’s tiffs before and they know how long they can be. 

Kenma doesn’t spare Kuroo a glance, “You were the one who insisted I come in the first place. Maybe the point is for me to do things _ I  _ enjoy.”

Kuroo huffs, “The point is to go outside of your comfort zone.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

His DS is plucked from his fingers and Kenma just barely keeps himself from karate-chopping Kuroo across the base of his throat. “Come out with us,” Kuroo repeats. 

“Give me back my game,” Kenma threatens. 

It’s a stalemate, a battle of who can be the scariest. Kenma’s eyes go dark and he shifts to his knees, about ready to pounce on top of Kuroo. Kuroo just stares. 

Kenma sighs and sits back down, put out. He looks at his nails, just to piss Kuroo off, “I can’t go with you,” Kenma says. Kuroo just huffs. “I didn’t bring anything warmer than jeans and a cardigan.”

Kenma smirks as Kuroo’s mouth falls open, his face turning warm. “Why?” He starts, then shakes his head. “Kenma you goddamn bastard.”

Kenma just shrugs and uses Kuroo’s shock to grab back his game. He’s failed the level, dead in the interim between Kenma and Kuroo’s hands, but he restarts it and begins to move, sucking in tiny pixelated cherries and jumping onto platforms. 

“Kuroo, man, we should head out,” Bokuto calls, knowing when to cut their losses. Kuroo takes one more moment to stare dumbfounded at Kenma before following, footsteps angry and echoing across the cabin. 

“Have fun!” Kenma calls as they leave, just to be extra infuriating. Kuroo slams the door shut, sending a small mountain of snow off of the roof and onto Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi’s heads. 

They’re gone long enough for Kenma to talk himself into getting dressed and making lunch. He’s halfway through an admittedly dry turkey sandwich when Akaashi opens the door and scuttles in, cheeks blazing red and eyelashes flecked with snow. Bokuto and Kuroo hurry in behind him, one of Kuroo’s long arms across Bokuto’s back as Bokuto helps Kuroo lumber inside. Kenma puts down the sandwich, going to hover by Akaashi. “What happened?” He asks, already roaming his gaze across Kuroo’s body. 

He’s not limping and the tight, hot pressure in Kenma’s chest lifts a little. But Kuroo still isn’t standing on his own, and his face is pinched as if he were in pain. Kenma isn’t sure what to do. Kuroo was the caring one of the two of them. He was the one who got Kenma sent home to his mother in year two when he’d broken his arm on the playground. He was the one that made soup and wiped Kenma’s brow if he was sick. He was the one who yelled at Kenma when he forgot to eat, or even, if he’d forgone eating intentionally to get something else done. 

Kenma didn’t do any of that. Kuroo didn’t get sick, hadn’t at least in the past five years, and Kenma had never really seen him injured either. Sure, there were the usual bruises and aches from volleyball, but it was nothing that Kuroo couldn’t handle on his own with a warm bath and some icy compresses. This, Kenma could tell, was different, and it scared him. 

Kenma’s legs unfreeze once Bokuto has levered Kuroo down onto the sofa, Kuroo falling back into the cushions without resistance. Kenma kneels by his side, places his tiny hands on Kuroo’s arm, and looks at him. Kuroo tilts his head so that he’s facing him, eyes bright. 

“Are you okay?” Kenma asks, softly. Bokuto and Akaashi have ambled into the kitchen to give them space. 

Kuroo nods, the sweaty hair on his forehead sliding around. He grunts, trying to sit up. Kenma squeezes his arm, face crumpling. “Don’t,” he says, and Kuroo stills. “Stay there. Tell me what happened.”

Kuroo nods, breathing a little heavy. Kenma wants to climb on top of him but he’s afraid to put that much weight on top of Kuroo, afraid to hurt him more. 

“Bokuto and I had a bet for who could make it down the fastest,” Kuroo starts. Instantly, Kenma’s temples begin to throb. 

“And?”

Kuroo smiles but his eyes are still pained. “And I won?”

Bokuto laughs from the kitchen. He and Akaashi have made tea, steam curling out of the small mugs in their hands. Akaashi is leaning into Bokuto, his head on his shoulder. He looks warmer now, if only marginally. “He tumbled down it.”

Kenma whips his gaze to Kuroo, “You tumbled down it?” It comes out angrier than he intends and Kuroo flinches, hitting his head against the back of the sofa.

“I’m fine, the snow broke my fall.”

“Bokuto carried you in here.”

A scoff as Kuroo forces himself to sit. Kenma scurries onto the cushion beside him, ignoring the wet spot from Kuroo’s sweaty hair. “Stop being so dramatic, Kenma. I was walking.”

“He was supporting you,” Kenma grits out, rolling his eyes. Their thighs are touching and Kenma’s skin burns where Kuroo’s meets his. “Did you hit your head?”

“Yes” “No” Kuroo and Bokuto say at the same time. Kenma turns his head to look at Bokuto, and Akaashi, who he knows will be truthful. “He whammed it on a snowbank, but we got him checked out by the doctor and they said he’d be fine, and to take it easy for a few days.”

“No concussion?”

Bokuto shakes his head, “No, but they can be delayed. We’ll keep an eye on him here.”

He must be starting to look as panicked as he feels because Akaashi sets his mug down and walks over. “We got him checked out early and there’s three of us so he’ll never spend any time unsupervised. Plus we have the ranger’s number now so if anything happens we can get an airlift to the hospital.”

He feels his fingers start to unclench and only then does Kenma realize he was strangling the back cushion of the couch. He nods, sitting back down. Kuroo has tipped his head back to lean against the couch. His face is still a little flushed but he looks less cold and a little less pained. 

“Are you okay?” Kenma asks because it’s always better to get a report from the source even if Kenma thinks the source may lie to him. 

Kuroo pops open one gleaming eye, dark and hooded, and stares at him. Kenma bunches the bottom of his cardigan in his hands, pulls at the fabric, bites his lip. “I am,” Kuroo says, and Kenma, the fool that he is, believes him. 

Kuroo sleeps on the couch while Kenma, Bokuto, and Akaashi play card games in the small kitchen. There’s a fireplace, but the small cabin is warm and insulated and Kenma thinks it’s best used at night. It kinda feels like training camp, here in this small building, with Kuroo asleep and Kenma voluntarily socializing. He doesn’t mind it, though he’ll never tell Kuroo that. Bokuto is loud and notoriously bad at poker. Akaashi has a kind of dry wit that burns, leaving Kenma smirking into his deck even when the joke goes over Bokuto’s head. He wins most of the hands of poker, Akaashi winning the rest. Bokuto only wins when he has a good hand, and even then, he never baits Akaashi or Kenma into betting more than the starting chip. 

After they’ve played several rounds, Akaashi herds Bokuto into the kitchen to make soup and Kenma makes his way to the living room. It’s chilled considerably, aided by the steady fall of snow outdoors and the continued disuse of the firepit. Kuroo is awake, though groggy, and sitting up on the couch. 

Kenma sits next to him, nudging him with a shoulder. He doesn’t fight it when Kuroo wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his chest. Instantly, Kenma is warmer. 

“What’d you guys do?”

“Played cards,” Kenma says, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of Kuroo’s sweater. 

Kuroo huffs and Kenma looks up at him, bemused. “It’s like you never stop playing games. Video, card, volleyball.”

Kenma shrugs, the movement hindered by his position against Kuroo’s side. “All you do is study.”

Kuroo laughs at that, “Touche.”

There’s something off about him, Kenma can tell. His movements are slower, his laugh a little dull. Kenma stares at him openly, Kuroo’s face a puzzle. He’s still flushed, hair plastered to his forehead. He still looks like he’s in pain, but Kenma assumes that’s to be expected considering the circumstances. He feels so close to placing it when Akaashi calls them into dinner and he has to drop it, Kuroo looking suspiciously relieved. 

The soup is good, hearty and just on this side of salty. Kenma finishes his bowl and palms a plum from the fruit bowl. Kuroo is unenthusiastic, spinning the ramen noodles with his chopsticks and resting his chin on one of his hands. 

The lack of appetite is worrying. Kenma is just about to call him out on it when Akaashi speaks up. “Don’t like it, Kuroo-san?” The question is benign, but Kenma can see Akaashi eyeing Kuroo. He’s noticed too, even if Bokuto hasn’t, and he’s not going to let Kuroo get away with it. Kenma feels a wave of appreciation for the setter and he smiles slightly at him across the table. 

“No!” Kuroo exclaims, “it’s great, really Akaashi, you’re a great cook. I’m just not very hungry.”

Akaashi nods as Kenma frowns across the table and bites into his plum. 

“Dude, if you weren’t feeling well you should’ve told us,” Bokuto says. 

Kuroo stares up at them, wide-eyed. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. 

Kenma crosses his arms. “It is when you could have a concussion.” Kuroo’s face twists like he’s been forced to ingest something sour. He’s fighting something, calculating the risks of giving out information he’d previously hidden. Kenma forces himself to be patient, finishing off the plum and dropping the core into his empty bowl of soup. Kuroo sighs, the benefits of confessing winning. 

“It’s not the concussion.” Kuroo deflates, slumping in his chair and continuing to swirl his noodles around in his bowl. “Wasn’t feel well this morning either.”

Kenma’s eyes narrow and he stands, quickly, enough so that his chair rocks briefly backward. It’s not unlike Kuroo, to feel sick and power through it, but it only serves to anger Kenma. For all that Kuroo gets on him about taking care of himself--getting enough sleep, taking time to eat, and resting when he feels off--Kuroo is bad about it himself. It makes Kenma want to throw something, or tie Kuroo down to a bed and ply him with blankets. 

“Kenma, could you and Bokuto go do the dishes in the kitchen?” Akaashi is staring right at him, his eyebrows raised like a white flag. He’s telling Kenma to back off, to not press. There’s nothing they can do about it now, and yelling at Kuroo when he feels bad will only make it worse. Kenma nods, too angry to speak, and swipes up Kuroo’s bowl from in front of him.

Kuroo opens his mouth as if to speak but shuts it, watching pitifully as Kenma slams into the kitchen. He’ll apologize for it later, when his brain stops replaying all the situations where Kuroo’s fall could’ve been worse. Where he could’ve been sicker, or not fast enough, or not lucky enough, or all three. 

“Be easy on him,” Bokuto’s voice says from behind him when Kenma has finished scrubbing the soup pot and has taken to angrily swiping at the chopsticks. “You know it’s hard for him to admit when he needs help.”

All at once, Kenma’s anger leaves him at Bokuto’s words. He drops his hands, the dishwater warm and soapy. He swallows against the thickness in his throat. Across their small backyard, two small tits are grooming themselves on an icy branch. “Okay,” Kenma says, his mind whirring against his will. “Akaashi checking on him?”

“You know ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, “He’s got him.”

Bokuto dries while Kenma washes. Akaashi has gotten Kuroo set up on the couch as Kenma and Bokuto exit, Princess Mononoke playing on the television. A small bucket lays at Kuroo’s feet, and Akaashi has gotten one of those stick-on cooling packs situated on Kuroo’s forehead. Kenma noses his way into Kuroo’s side, not missing the way Kuroo’s eyes soften with relief as he opens up his arms for Kenma, who presses his face into Kuroo’s chest. 

“Thought you were mad at me,” he warbles. Kenma shuts his eyes against the image of Kuroo’s glassy eyes and rubs his face against Kuroo’s sweater. 

“I’m not,” Kenma says, softly, and watches the film. 

They fall asleep. Kenma wakes up to Akaashi shaking his shoulder, face pinched. Outside, the sun has not risen and the sky is pinpricked with stars. Kenma is instantly awake, worried, and sitting up. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, realizing just then that he’s in the bed he and Kuroo were supposed to share, and he has no recollection of being moved. The door is open and around Akaashi Kenma can see the small light to the bathroom on. He doesn’t wait for Akaashi to answer before he’s crawling out of bed, making his way to the bathroom. 

“He kept asking for you, Bokuto is in there now but--” Akaashi trails off. Kenma rubs his palms over his eyes. 

“What time is it?” He groans, walking a little faster now that he’s more aware. 

“Four-thirty.”

“Can you make some tea? I’ll send Bokuto to the kitchen.”

Akaashi nods. Before he leaves he grabs Kenma’s shoulder, turning him. “We may have to call the ranger at some point if he still can’t keep anything down.”

Kenma nods, his limbs growing cold. “I’ll let you know.” Then Akaashi is gone and Kenma is pushing open the door to the bathroom. 

The smell of vomit hits him first, acrid and stale, circulating in the tiny room without a place to escape. Kenma swallows, stepping in further. Bokuto is rubbing circles on Kuroo’s back and Kenma feels so fond toward him and Akaashi. They may be Kuroo’s friends first but he’s glad they’re his too, if only by proxy. He doesn’t know who else outside of this room would take the first shift, move him to bed, and let him sleep. He makes a mental note to pull them aside and thank them later. 

“Kenma?” Kuroo says, his voice so soft and fond that Kenma finds himself moving automatically, kneeling by where Kuroo’s face is pressed against the toilet seat. 

Kenma puts a hand in his hair, scraping his nails softly against Kuroo’s damp scalp. “Hmm, feels good,” Kuroo hums. 

“Akaashi is making tea if you want some,” Kenma says, to Bokuto. 

The shuffle is a little awkward, with how tight the bathroom is, but eventually, Bokuto ends up outside and Kenma ends up in his old spot, sitting on the edge of the tub. Kuroo’s moved to rest above the toilet again, breathing uneven. 

Kenma rubs between his shoulder blades, wincing at the heat. “Has anybody taken your temperature recently?”

“It was at thirty-nine I think,” Kuroo says before he lurches forward with a whine. Kenma keeps rubbing. 

“Not bad, you gonna throw up?”

Kuroo nods but doesn’t speak. Kuroo isn’t afraid of vomiting, not in the way that some people are. But it’s not pleasant and Kenma still isn’t sure how to comfort him, or anyone for that matter. All he’s doing now is recycling Bokuto’s moves. He wishes for a moment that Bokuto or Akaashi were here, but he doesn’t really mean it. He may have fun messing with Kuroo, but at the end of the day he belongs to Kuroo and Kuroo belongs to him. 

“Could you--” Kuroo starts, stopping to cough into the bowl. Nothing comes up. 

“What do you need?” 

“Sit behind me?” The way that Kuroo says it, almost guiltily, makes Kenma think that Kuroo was expecting him to say no. 

The bathmat cushions Kenma’s knees from the harsh tile floors and he has just enough time to wrap his arms around Kuroo to his front before Kuroo is actually choking, retching into the bowl. It’s productive this time, and Kenma winces but doesn’t move. It takes a moment before Kuroo stops dry-heaving, but when he does, Akaashi knocks at the door holding a mug of green tea. 

“He needs to drink some of this.” 

Kenma nods, taking it from Akaashi, who leans in momentarily. “I’ll be just outside. Bokuto’s cleared off the doorway and stairs if we need to get someone in here.”

“Is it still snowing?”

Akaashi nods. He looks tired, bags under his eyes and eyebrows pinched in the center of his forehead. “It’s not supposed to stop until tomorrow evening. If we stay too long, we’ll get stuck.”

“So if he doesn’t keep this down?”

Akaashi’s pink lips are red from his teeth, “We’ll have to call.”

None of them want to do that. It’s Bokuto and Kuroo’s only chance for a real graduation trip before their university programs start, and they’re supposed to stay for another three days. Kenma is already wondering how he’s going to tell Kuroo if he has to. But there’s nothing they can do now except give Kuroo some of the tea and hope he can keep it down. Behind him, Kuroo begins heaving again, reaching out for Kenma with one arm. 

“Can you get me a change of clothes?”

Akaashi nods, leaving the door open as he makes his way to Kenma and Kuroo’s room. Bokuto is on the couch, his own mug of tea hanging dangerously off of his fingertips, head tipped back and eyes closed. 

Kenma sighs, setting the tea on the counter before dipping down to grasp at Kuroo’s hand. When he stops heaving, leaning against Kenma, he grabs the cup off of the counter. “Kuroo, do you think you could drink something?”

His eyes are so dark they’re almost black when he swivels them to peer at Kenma. His face is red, sweat collecting at his hairline and a few lines snaking down the curves of his face. Kenma wants to wipe it off, rest his hand against Kuroo’s cheekbones, but his hands are full and he needs an answer from Kuroo. 

“Maybe?” Kuroo says, out of breath. 

“Try your best,” Kenma says. Kuroo takes the mug out of his hands, sniffing it briefly, before sipping at the liquid, now lukewarm. 

“It’s weird,” Kuroo says, after he swallows.

“The tea?” 

A smile, small but there, “No, Kenma. You. You’re being nice to me?”

Kenma is picking at his jeans, there’s a spot of stiff fabric where he’d spilled some miso soup and it had dried. “I can be nice,” his words are small, weak. Kuroo grips his shoulder and Kenma looks up at him. He’s tired and scared and he doesn’t know what to do. Kuroo’s never been hospitalized, and it terrifies Kenma that he might be. 

“Hey,” Kuroo says, trying to set the mug down. Kenma grips the side and presses it back, the mug hitting Kuroo’s chest, liquid sloshing down the sides. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” The words are all wrong, wet and in a voice that Kenma doesn’t recognize, “like I can’t possibly be worried for you?”

Kuroo reaches for the counter again and Kenma blocks him, “I gave that to you for a reason. Drink it,” he snaps. 

Kuroo frowns, taking a swig of the drink. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Kenma watches as the dried miso soup flakes off of his jeans, running his thumb across the fabric to get it all. It’s silent for a while, Kenma refusing to look up, insides all twisted. He’s supposed to be here to make Kuroo feel better and all he’s done is get into a fight. Kuroo drops the empty mug on the ground. He crowds Kenma, placing his hands on his thighs. “It’s nice,” he clears his throat, “You worrying for me. I’m just not used to it.”

“Sorry,” Kenma mutters, ears burning. He can’t help but feel like he’s failed a test.

“Kenma.” He doesn’t look up and Kuroo groans. “Kitten, I like you how you are. I like that we didn’t stop being how we were with each other once we started dating. I like that you can take insults and give them back, okay?”

He nods, finally looking up. Kuroo smiles, reaching out to brush at the wetness on Kenma’s cheeks. “It’s just nice to know that you can care for me, too, ya know?”

“I guess,” Kenma says, but it’s stronger now. He’s reassured, smiling a little at Kuroo and leaning into his touch. That is, until Kuroo groans and swings harshly over the toilet, coughing up the small serving of green tea. 

Kenma aids him through it, flushing the toilet when it’s over. He presses his cheek into Kuroo’s sweaty back. The rub is rusting, the white porcelain burned orange from age. “Kuroo.”

“I know,” he replies. And just like that, Kenma is getting Akaashi, getting an extra coat--Kuroo had packed a spare, knowing that now, knowing that Kuroo didn’t use it to push Kenma out of his comfort zone, stings--getting  _ ready. _

The ranger comes within five minutes, sitting in their small living room and drinking the rest of the green tea from the pot as they wait. With the weather, and Kuroo’s decent condition--dehydrated, but not much to worry about once they get emetics into him--it takes forty minutes for the helicopter to land. Bokuto and the ranger support Kuroo as they walk across the resort, Akaashi and Kenma with overnight bags filled with clothes, chargers, books, and Kenma’s PSP. 

The sun is beginning to rise, cresting over the mountain with a soft wash of pink. Kenma, for once, appreciates what Kuroo wanted him to see here. The beauty of the mountains, backlit by sun and glimmering under snow. It’s their last few weeks before Kenma has to finish high school without him, and he’d wanted Kenma to experience every last minute of it with him, even on the graduation trip him and Bokuto had planned. 

He stares at the helicopter, blades still spinning, as they get Kuroo on a stretcher and plug in an IV. A deep breath, one last fleeting glance at the mountain, and then Kenma is scrambling in to follow Kuroo. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you enjoyed this piece and want to see more like it please let me know by leaving me a kudos or a comment. If you have a specific request feel free to leave it as a comment and I might write it. I'm really enjoying writing Haikyuu fics lately, however, I am still pretty new so please forgive me if any of the characterizations are a little off. 
> 
> Best,  
> C


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